


Hostess

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vicki's just an ordinary girl who works in a coffee shop. Until one day, her boss asks her to go a little beyond the call of duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostess

**Author's Note:**

> From an [Ersatz Genremixer](http://www.seasip.info/Misc/genremixer.html?people=Susan:Ian:Barbara:Vicki:Steven:Katarina:Dodo:Polly:Ben:Jamie:Victoria:Zoe:Liz:Jo:Sarah%20Jane:Leela:Romana:Adric:Nyssa:Tegan:Peri:Mel:Ace:Lucie:Rose:Mickey:Jack:Martha:Donna:Amy:Rory:Clara&cpp=0&tpp=0&prompts=10&tl=6&nsfw=false) prompt: Vicki - coffee shop au & dinner with the boss & rescue

"Vicki," Mr Bennett said, as Vicki returned the last few trays to their stack. "Can I ask you something?" 

Vicki set down her cloth and wondered what Mr Bennett wanted of her now. Of course, he was wheelchair-bound and so it made sense that he needed all sorts of help to run a coffee shop. But once or twice she'd had the thought — no more than a suspicion, really — that if his disability did attract others' goodwill, he was sure to use every last ounce of it. 

"Yes, Mr Bennett?" she said out loud. 

He looked hesitant. "It's a big ask, but the Area Manager's invited himself round to my place for the evening. And I haven't got anyone to help me cook the dinner and look after him. I wondered if you could..." 

Vicki gave him as hard a look as her sixteen years would allow. "You want me to come to your house this evening?" 

"Think of it as overtime, if you like. I'll pay you, of course: Three hours at double your hourly rate." His expression was beseeching. "Please, Vicki. I don't have anyone else to ask." 

"Well..." Vicki considered the question. Six hours' pay wasn't to be sniffed at, and she hadn't got anything else lined up. "OK, then." 

⁂

Having chained her bicycle to a convenient lamp-post, Vicki walked up the drive of Mr Bennett's house and pressed the button on the entryphone. 

"Who is it?" Mr Bennett's voice asked. 

"Me. Vicki." 

With a buzz, the locking mechanism disengaged. Vicki pushed the door open and walked in. The house was warm, and she quickly divested herself of her coat. 

"Hello?" she called. 

"In here," Mr Bennett's voice called, from somewhere at the back of the house. 

Following the voice, Vicki quickly penetrated to a large, spotless, well-equipped kitchen. Mr Bennett, in his wheelchair as usual, was sitting in the corner. 

"You're in good time," he said. "Splendid. Let me take your coat. That's a nice dress you're wearing." 

Blushing despite herself, Vicki handed him the coat. 

"Now, I think you'd better start with the chicken veronique. I think you'd better wear an apron. Don't want to ruin your dress, do you?" 

Obediently, Vicki donned the apron. "No, Mr Bennett." 

"Good girl." The wheelchair rolled forward. "I've got all the recipes written out. It ought to be straightforward. Call me if you need any help." 

"OK," Vicki said, as the door closed behind him. 

⁂

Left alone in the kitchen, Vicki found she was almost enjoying herself. The recipes were simple enough to follow, the equipment vastly superior to what she had to work with at the café, and she wasn't getting constantly distracted by customers with reasonable or unreasonable complaints. In the distance, she could hear a telephone ringing; it cut off as Mr Bennett answered it. Still, she hadn't time to think about that now. She really needed to make a start on the potatoes... 

The door opened, and Mr Bennett's wheelchair glided in. He did not look as if, had he been capable of it, he would have been jumping for joy. 

"Getting on all right?" he asked. 

Vicki smiled. "Fine. It's quite fun." 

"Good. Good. Listen, Vicki, did you hear the phone ring just now?" 

"Yes." 

Mr Bennett sighed. "It was Doctor Smith. He's an old colleague — I haven't seen him for years — but he's in town and needs to see me urgently. I'll have to pop across to Verona Court and see what he wants." 

"But what about the dinner party?" Vicki asked, wide-eyed. 

"Don't worry, I'll be back in a jiffy. But if Mr Koquillion does show up before I do, can you hold the fort?" 

Vicki put on her bravest face. "I'll do my best, Mr Bennett." 

"Good girl. I'm counting on you." 

Vicki turned back to her cooking, feeling considerably less relaxed than before. 

⁂

At the sound of the door buzzer, Vicki's heart leapt. She hastily pulled off her apron, and hurried to the front door. 

"Who is it?" she asked. 

"The name's Koquillion," a Scottish-accented voice replied. 

Vicki looked around for the door controls, found them, and opened the door. A tall, well-dressed man was standing outside, wearing a lounge suit and with a briefcase in one hand. In addition to the Scottish accent, he had ginger hair, a bushy red beard and a tartan tie. 

"Won't you please come in, Mr Koquillion?" she said. 

"And you must be Mrs Bennett." He kissed her on the cheek. "Charmed, I'm sure." 

_I suppose I must_ , Vicki thought. Mr Bennett had told her how important it was to make a good impression, and if that extended to posing as his wife... well, so be it. "Shall I take your coat?" 

"Thank you." 

"I'm afraid Raymond has had to step out for a moment, but I'm sure he'll be back directly." Vicki hung the visitor's coat over her arm. "Would you like anything to drink?" 

"A whisky and soda would be nice." 

"I'll get right onto it." Vicki opened a door at random. Seeing that there was only a cubbyhole behind it, she quickly closed it, and opened another. It looked like a lounge this time, at least. "Would you wait in here?" 

"Aye, I'll be happy to." 

"OK. I'll get you your whisky." Vicki opened several cupboards before finding a promising collection of bottles. "And a glass... yes, here we are." 

"Thanks. Won't you have one yourself?" 

"Well, I've got to keep an eye on the cooking." 

He smiled at her. "Can't the cooking look after itself for five minutes?" 

"I suppose it could." Hesitantly, Vicki poured herself another whisky, and perched herself on an easy chair. "I can't think what can have happened to— to Raymond." 

"Aye." There was a touch of sharpness in Mr Koquillion's voice. "He's not usually the man to let me down. He's never late as a rule. Account books in on time, week after week." 

Vicki, whose Friday nights had often been sacrificed to ensuring the ledgers were accurate and up to date, nodded. 

"Of course, there's no reason you'd bother your pretty head with matters of business like that." He raised his glass and winked at her. "And I'm sure you don't want to talk shop. You probably get enough of that all the time." 

Vicki made a noncomittal answer. 

"I particularly wanted to talk to him this evening about the tenancy agreement." He opened his briefcase, flipping through folders of paper. "Still, plenty of hours in the—" 

He broke off, at the sound of the telephone bell. 

"Will you excuse me?" Vicki said, jumping to her feet. 

"Of course." 

Vicki hurried out into the hall, closing the door behind her, and lifted the receiver. "Hello?" she said. 

"Vicki!" It was Mr Bennett's voice. "Is he here yet?" 

"Mr Koquillion? Yes, he got here a few minutes ago. Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine, but my car isn't. It's broken down on the bypass. The RAC are coming but I don't know how long they'll be. Tell Koquillion I don't know when I'll be back, and you're to start dinner without me." 

"But it's you he wants to talk to. About the tenancy agreement." 

There was a sigh from the other end of the telephone. "I know. Just do the best you can, OK?" 

"OK." Vicki hung up the telephone, privately thinking that at this rate, double wages weren't anything like enough. She squared her shoulders, pushed the door open, and returned to the lounge, ready to rehearse her excuses. 

⁂

"That was an excellent trifle," Mr Koquillion said, replacing his spoon in the empty bowl. "You're a very good cook, Vicki." 

"Thank you." Vicki leaned back in her chair. Between what had gone into the recipes, and what she had drunk for the sake of politeness, she was, to say the least, tipsy. Her napkin slid off her lap and fell to the floor. "What can have happened to Raymond?" 

"I'm sure he'll be all right." Mr Koquillion was by her side, retrieving the fallen cloth. "You're very loyal to him, aren't you, Vicki?" 

"I—" Vicki let out a hiccup. "I'm sorry. I try to do what I can for him." 

"Just a pity I couldn't get your husband's signature on the new agreement. It would make all the difference to the business, you know." He paused, looking as if a thought had just struck him. "Maybe there's something you can do to help." 

Vicki rose to her feet, and found she had to grab hold of the back of her chair to keep her balance. "What's that?" 

"Why don't you sign it? In your husband's name, of course. I'm sure you've seen his signature often enough to make a decent copy." 

"Yes, I have," Vicki said, automatically. 

"Let's go back to the lounge, then, and we can get it all signed and sealed." 

Something was nagging at Vicki, but couldn't penetrate the fuzziness in her mind. "That's all I have to do? Sign a piece of paper for him?" 

"That's all." She felt his hand on her arm, gently guiding her back to the lounge. "Don't worry, it'll all be fine. I promise." 

He led her to an easy chair, then rummaged in his briefcase and pulled out a lengthy, typewritten document. 

"Now, just sign your husband's name on the dotted line," he said. 

Slowly, Vicki took the pen into her hand. 

There was a sharp bark outside the window. Then another, and then a whole fusillade of barking. 

"What?" Mr Koquillion looked around, as if wondering who'd be walking a dog at this time of night. 

"Sandy!" Vicki jumped to her feet, all thoughts of contracts and signatures forgotten. "That's Sandy!" 

"Who's Sandy?" Mr Koquillion asked. There was something odd about his voice, that Vicki couldn't place. 

"He's my dog!" Vicki was on her feet and running for the hall door. "I'd know that bark anywhere. Why is he out there? He shouldn't be—" 

Koquillion's hand closed around her wrist. She looked up at him. 

"Leave the dog be," he said. She realised what had been wrong about his voice; the Scottish accent was gone. "Just sign the contract and then you can deal with the dog." 

"Get off me!" Vicki shouted. She attempted to pull free, to no avail, then threw diplomacy to the winds and elbowed Koquillion in the stomach. As he doubled over, she tore free and threw herself at the entryphone button. 

The door flew open, and the hall was suddenly full of people and dogs. Well, one dog, but Sandy was barking and jumping about enough that there seemed to be more than one. He leapt joyfully on Vicki, nearly knocking her to the ground, then ran for Koquillion, yapping and sniffing like a dog possessed. 

"Are you OK?" someone asked. Vicki looked up and found it was Constable Taylor, the local policeman and breaker of not a few young ladies' hearts. He'd often passed the time with her when his beat took him past the coffee shop. 

"Fine," she said. "What's going on?" 

Constable Taylor gestured at the door, where Vicki recognised two more of her regular customers. 

"Mr and Mrs Chesterton found your dog running loose," he said. 

"Sandy? But I tied him up. I know I did!" 

"Well, he got loose somehow. And good for you he did. They looked for you and couldn't find you. But Sandy must have got your scent — he led us to your bicycle, and then it was just a matter of checking the houses." 

"But I haven't been kidnapped or anything," Vicki protested. "I was just helping Mr Bennett out. He was giving dinner to his area manager..." 

She gestured towards Koquillion, who by now was on the floor, with Sandy standing over him, tail wagging. There was something in the dog's mouth that for a moment she couldn't place; it looked like a mass of orange wool. 

"Only Mr Bennett's car broke down and he couldn't get back and I had to look after Mr Koquillion," she went on. "I don't know why you're all making such a fuss." 

Constable Taylor rose to his feet. 

"That's the area manager?" he said. "You're sure?" 

"Positive," Vicki said. She took another look at Koquillion. "Hang on, he had a— No!" 

There was no mistaking the figure on the hall floor, with his ginger wig askew and his false beard now in the dog's mouth. It was Mr Bennett. 

⁂

"And so they arrested Mr Bennett," Vicki explained to her best friend Katarina the next day. "It turned out he'd been embezzling money from the shop for ages. And when people started to get suspicious, he decided he'd frame me. If he could trick me into forging his signature, then everyone would think I'd been the one helping myself from the till as well." 

"The sneaky toad!" Katarina exclaimed. "And he didn't need a wheelchair at all?" 

"No, he only did that so people would feel sorry for him." Vicki picked up a stick and hurled it away; Sandy raced after it, barking wildly. "So he tricked me into pretending to be his wife, and I fell for it." 

Katarina put a hand on her arm, suddenly serious. "Do you think he wanted to... well, do anything else to you?" 

"I've been thinking about that," Vicki said. "And I talked it over with Steven— with Constable Taylor. I think his plan was just to frame me for the fraud — he had to keep me on his side, didn't he? If he'd tried to molest me or anything I mightn't have gone along with signing the papers." 

"Well, maybe." Katarina tossed her head in a way that suggested she, for one, wasn't convinced. "How did he manage to call you on the telephone while he was in the room with you?" 

"He had a mobile in his briefcase. He just had to press the right button while he was pretending to look for the contract." 

Sandy rushed up, the stick in his mouth. Katarina took it and threw it again. "I suppose with Mr Bennett in prison they've had to shut down your coffee shop," she said. "Does that mean you're out of a job?" 

Vicki nodded. "But I won't be for long, with any luck. I saw this advert in the local paper this morning. Assistant Manager. I bet I could do it, too." 

"Who with?" Katarina took the paper from her and read the circled advertisement. "Caffe Nero." 

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Vicki said, taking the paper back. "I've sent my application in already. Can't wait to meet the boss."


End file.
